by Randy Singer
“How many felony jury trials have you had?” he asked Landon when they were discussing one of the cases Landon wanted to keep.
“I’ve done a few bench trials, but no juries,” Landon admitted.
Brent frowned and made a check on his list. “Let’s refer this one out,” he said.
They also filtered out any defendants who had serious gang connections. Though they continued to believe that Harry’s death was just a mugging gone bad, Detective Freeman’s questions had them all a little spooked. No sense taking any chances.
Landon fought to keep as many files as possible. “How am I supposed to get trial experience if we refer out the ones that might get tried?” he asked. He was supposed to be Harry’s heir apparent. In their short months together, Harry had trained Landon for this type of moment. If Harry had been in the conference room, he would have said Landon was ready to try all the cases.
When they came to Elias King’s cases, Brent didn’t see much need for discussion. “There’s no way we’re equipped to handle these,” he said. “And knowing Elias, he’s probably already interviewed other firms.”
To Landon’s surprise, Parker Clausen spoke up, one of the few things he had contributed the entire meeting. “Doesn’t mean we shouldn’t try,” he said, eyes glued to his iPad.
“You want to take responsibility for them?” Brent asked.
Clausen looked up. He stroked his gray beard for a second, and Landon thought about what a disaster it would be serving as Clausen’s second chair. “I could quarterback it,” Clausen said. “I haven’t actually tried a case in years.”
“That’s my point,” Brent said in a satisfied tone. “Landon, let’s contact Elias and get that file boxed up. The trial date is coming fast.” He looked back down at his sheet. “Commonwealth v. Bronson.”
“Going back to King,” Landon interjected, “what if you and I handled it together? You’ve done plenty of criminal work, and we’ve got a lot of retainer money left.”
Clausen grunted his approval. “Makes sense to me.”
But Brent had other thoughts. “I don’t have time to get up to speed on that file,” he said. “And I haven’t tried a criminal case in a few years.”
“Maybe Landon could stay in the case and help whatever new firm takes over,” Rachel suggested. She had been quiet most of the morning, but she seemed to sense that Landon wanted to stay involved in this one. “I know Elias really likes Landon.”
“I understand that. But Landon’s going to have his hands full with these other cases that he’ll be handling on his own,” Brent said.
Parker and Landon both started to respond, but Brent cut them off. “Look, I don’t like this any better than you guys. But the truth is that Harry’s gone and Landon’s not yet ready to take his place. So let’s keep some cases that are appropriate for a first-year lawyer and not worry about the rest.”
He spoke with the authority of the managing partner, one who had grown accustomed in the military to never having his orders questioned.
But Clausen had never served in the military. And he had a stubborn streak. “I’ll handle it,” he said. “I’ll tutor Landon, and we’ll figure out how to split the trial when we get there.”
“That’s not your call to make.” Brent’s voice was emphatic, a parent getting the last word. Because I said so. “You and I have other fish to fry.”
“I’m a partner. And I’m taking it.”
The ultimatum surprised Landon. He had never seen Parker Clausen stand up to Brent like this. For a few moments, there was an icy silence, finally broken by Brent’s calm and dispassionate voice. “Can we have a minute?” he asked, dismissing Landon and Rachel.
The two associates stepped out of the conference room and took bets on who would prevail. They both agreed that the smart money was on Benedict, though Landon said they shouldn’t rule Clausen out. Technically, Clausen was right. He was a partner. He could take cases if he wanted them.
“Would you really want to try those cases with him?” Rachel asked.
“Good question,” Landon conceded.
They stopped talking so they could hear what was being said behind closed doors.
When the associates were allowed back in the room, the partners acted as if there had never been a disagreement. Brent announced the decision. Parker and Landon would meet with Elias King. If Elias wanted them to stay on the case, they would. Parker would be the brains behind the operation, and he and Elias would have Landon ready to handle most of the courtroom duties.
“Now,” Brent said, his voice still authoritative, as if his view had carried the day, “Commonwealth v. Bronson.”
Landon and Rachel stole a quick glance. Parker Clausen had more backbone than they had thought.
///
The firm could have saved a lot of angst. The next day, Elias King came by and listened to their sales pitch. He told Parker and Landon how much he appreciated their willingness to stay on the case. He believed that Landon would someday be one of the best trial lawyers in town. But he needed someone who already had big-time experience. He had been in contact with a few other firms. They were good, even if they weren’t the same caliber as Harry.
Landon promised he would have a complete copy of the files ready the next day. He wished Elias luck and asked about Jake.
“He’s hanging in there,” Elias said. “But it’s been a rough few months.”
“He’s a tough kid. He’ll be all right.”
Elias thought about it for a moment, perhaps trying to convince himself that Landon was right. “When all this gets behind us, I’ll send you a copy of the fall football schedule. Maybe you could come to a game.”
“I’d like that,” Landon said.
After Elias left, Landon returned to the conference room to thank Parker Clausen for trying.
“It would have been an interesting case,” Clausen said. “Just let me know if you need any help on your other ones.”
Landon left the conference room feeling a little ashamed. Maybe Parker Clausen wasn’t such a bad guy. Maybe, thought Landon, I should be a little more careful before I rush to judgment.
46
FRIDAY MORNINGS were always chaotic in Virginia Beach Circuit Court. The day was reserved for hearing motions, and the judges in all nine courtrooms spent their time listening to the bickering lawyers and ruling on their cases. It wouldn’t be unusual for a single judge to hear twenty or thirty motions. The lawyers argued about custody matters or support agreements or motions to compel in civil cases. For the most part, it resembled a long family road trip with the kids in the backseat squabbling about who put whose foot over the line. The judges, like parents, would chew out both sides. “Don’t make me stop this car!”
On Friday, April 26, just six days after Harry’s memorial, three lawyers from the McNaughten and Clay firm were camped out in Courtroom 5, Virginia Beach Circuit Court, because Carolyn Glaxon-Forrester had hauled them in there to respond to her motion to compel.
She had already filed a ten-page brief, complaining about the shenanigans that had taken place during the depositions of Brent Benedict and Rachel Strach. Glaxon-Forrester wanted Brent held in contempt of court for lying under oath during his deposition. She wanted to compel Rachel to answer questions about her sexual escapades in Atlanta. She wanted blood, and she wanted a chance to strut around the courtroom for fifteen or twenty minutes and, quite literally, flex her muscles while she made her salacious accusations.
Because Glaxon-Forrester’s motions would take a good deal of time to resolve, Judge Samantha Traynor, a former prosecutor with a reputation for fairness, made the lawyer wait until all other motions had been heard. Glaxon-Forrester did a slow boil, stewing for three hours while her client, Stacy Benedict, shot menacing glances at her husband.
At eleven thirty, when their case was finally called, Rachel and Landon took their places at the defense counsel table, alongside Brent Benedict and his high-priced lawyer, Allen Mattingly.
; Mattingly seemed unperturbed by the coming storm. The word on Mattingly was that he was seriously smart and had lots of useful connections. But Landon wasn’t sold on the guy. For starters, if Mattingly was as brilliant as people said, Landon wondered why he wore a toupee that made him look like a sixty-year-old with the hair of one of the Beatles. It didn’t seem to Landon like any lawyer with a toupee would be much of a match for Glaxon-Forrester. Landon hoped he was underestimating the man, that maybe Glaxon-Forrester was fire but Mattingly was ice.
It would sure make Landon’s job a lot easier if Mattingly stepped up and earned his hourly rate.
“I understand we are here on your motions, Ms. Forrester,” Judge Traynor said.
“Glaxon-Forrester.” The lawyer’s correction carried a healthy dose of disdain.
“Excuse me,” Judge Traynor said pleasantly. “Ms. Glaxon-Forrester.” Traynor reviewed the pleadings in the file for a moment. “It’s been a long morning, so I would appreciate it if you would keep your argument concise.”
“It has been a long morning,” Glaxon-Forrester said. “And I’ll do the best I can.”
She stepped out from behind her counsel table and jumped right into the juiciest allegations. “I’d like to hand the court some photographs taken at a hotel in Atlanta, Georgia, where Mr. Benedict and Ms. Strach spent the night together. We have photos of them going into the room that night and coming out the next morning. We also have deposition testimony from Mr. Benedict denying that he had sex with Ms. Strach. When we tried to depose Ms. Strach, she hid behind the Fifth Amendment.”
As she spoke, Glaxon-Forrester took the photographs and excerpts from the depositions to the bench and handed them to the judge. It seemed like she struck a pose in her sleeveless blouse as she did so, flexing her biceps, triceps, and lats all in one smooth motion. On her way back to the counsel table, she slapped a copy of the exhibits in front of Allen Mattingly. He ignored them.
“My motion is basically twofold,” Glaxon-Forrester continued. “First, I want Ms. Strach compelled to answer my questions. Invoking the Fifth Amendment was improper. Adultery might be a misdemeanor in Georgia and Virginia, but nobody’s been prosecuted under those statutes for half a century, and she won’t be the first. A Fairfax judge, who compelled testimony about adultery in a similar case despite a Fifth Amendment claim, called prosecution under the Virginia statute a ‘matter of historical curiosity’ rather than a real-life threat. More importantly, sexual conduct between consenting adults apart from adultery is not a crime at all in Georgia, which is where the conduct occurred. So I should be able to ask Ms. Strach about anything short of intercourse.
“And second, I’m asking for sanctions against Mr. Benedict for lying under oath about whether he had sex with Ms. Strach. He should know that I’m also going to turn his deposition transcript over to the Commonwealth’s Attorney for possible perjury charges. Now, maybe Mr. Mattingly is going to argue that his client and Ms. Strach were just preparing for an appellate argument the next day, studying their briefs all night. But I think we all know the truth. Those legal briefs weren’t the only ones being studied.”
The remark brought some snickers from the lawyers in the audience who had stayed to watch the action. Traynor didn’t find it funny. “Stick to your argument, Ms. Glaxon-Forrester.”
“Sorry, Judge.”
But she wasn’t really. Within seconds, she was rolling again, jabbing her finger in the direction of Brent Benedict and the others at the defense table. She called Benedict a liar, Mattingly an obstructionist, and Rachel . . . “Well,” Glaxon-Forrester said, “I can’t say what she is in polite company.”
This brought Landon to his feet. “That’s ridiculous, Judge.”
Glaxon-Forrester swiveled toward him.
“Are we back in middle school here?” Landon asked. “This is name-calling, not argument.”
From there, the battle was on. Glaxon-Forrester suggested that Landon should have paid better attention in civil procedure class, since he obviously didn’t know the first thing about courtroom etiquette. He called her a bully who used sleazy detectives to satisfy her client’s obsessive desire for revenge. Judge Traynor chewed them both out and told them to show a little professionalism. “Is that asking too much?”
“No, ma’am,” Landon said.
Glaxon-Forrester didn’t respond.
After things calmed down, Glaxon-Forrester finished her argument. Adultery could be considered under the equitable distribution process of Virginia law. It was one of the factors the court was entitled to weigh when divvying up the assets. Therefore, Glaxon-Forrester and the court should know what happened in that hotel room. Brent Benedict could sleep with anybody he wanted, as far as Glaxon-Forrester and her client were concerned. But when he did it while married, and when he denied it under oath, then it became the court’s business.
“Hold him accountable, Judge,” Glaxon-Forrester urged. “Just because he’s a lawyer doesn’t mean he should get away with it.”
Landon was next and responded with some passion of his own, though the judge limited him to just five minutes.
“If the Fifth Amendment means anything, it means that a witness like Ms. Strach cannot be forced to answer questions that would implicate her in a crime in either Virginia or Georgia. It doesn’t matter whether it’s a misdemeanor or a felony. And it doesn’t matter whether the prosecutor has chosen to prosecute for this particular crime or not in the last ten years or even the last century.”
“May I ask you a question?” Judge Traynor interjected as soon as Landon paused to draw a breath.
“Of course.”
“As I understand it, only the act of sexual intercourse is defined as adultery in the state of Georgia; is that correct?”
“Yes.”
“Well, since that’s the scene of the crime, so to speak, then what about all these other questions that Ms. Glaxon-Forrester asked in the deposition? There are a lot of activities short of sexual intercourse where your client also asserted the Fifth. How do you justify that?”
Out of the corner of his eye, Landon noticed a smug little grin on Glaxon-Forrester’s face.
“The test is whether my client’s answer to the question would tend to incriminate her in any way,” Landon explained. “If my client is asked about a bank robbery, she doesn’t have to answer questions about whether she purchased a gun on the black market, or whether she drove a car to the bank, or whether she had scoped out the bank three days earlier. It’s not just answers about the crime itself that are shielded by the Fifth Amendment, but answers about any acts that tend to incriminate.”
Landon’s argument was followed by the unflappable Allen Mattingly. He took a different approach than Landon, refusing to get involved in the mudslinging. “When you wrestle with a pig, you both get dirty, but only one of you likes it,” he said. Instead, he treated the whole matter as an academic exercise, citing cases that supported his proposition and giving the court a lecture on the history of the Fifth Amendment. His argument was effective, Landon thought, and especially so because Glaxon-Forrester made every grunting sound and tsk-tsk noise possible to show her displeasure.
Glaxon-Forrester insisted on having the last word, and Judge Traynor heard her out. When the lawyer finally sat down after repeating much of what she had said earlier, Traynor took a few minutes to jot down some notes.
When she finished, Judge Traynor looked up and sighed. “Mr. Benedict, your wife’s attorney is right about one thing. You would think that you’d be able to exercise enough restraint to forestall your affairs until the divorce decree is final. But you apparently didn’t, and so I’m forced to rule.
“Did Mr. Benedict exercise good judgment and demonstrate great moral character? It appears he didn’t, although nobody really knows for sure except Mr. Benedict and Ms. Strach. But under the law as it now stands, Ms. Strach is within her rights to assert the Fifth Amendment as she did. Ms. Glaxon-Forrester, you might not like it, and that’s okay. The Fifth
Amendment has never been our most popular amendment. Yet as long as it’s part of the Constitution, I’m going to honor it. Accordingly, your motion to compel and motion for sanctions are both overruled.”
She paused for a moment and surveyed both sides. The other lawyers in the courtroom had gotten what they came to see—some good fireworks and a few scandalous accusations by the attorneys. But Traynor wasn’t done lecturing the participants. She closed the file and shook her head.
“You didn’t ask for my advice, but I’ve seen this scenario unfold too many times. The parties need to get together and resolve this matter so you can both get on with your lives. Nobody’s going to be happy if this case goes to trial, and it’s going to cost you both thousands of dollars in legal fees and days and days of your lives fighting each other. Settle the case and move on.”
No lawyers responded, and Landon knew they weren’t expected to. It was a good ruling by Traynor, and the parties deserved their little dressing-down. But this whole affair also reminded Landon why he never wanted to practice domestic-relations law. He couldn’t wait to get back to the felons and miscreants who needed his help on criminal matters. Anything would be better than this.
47
KERRI WAS SURPRISED they were meeting at Kincaid’s Fish, Chop & Steakhouse at the MacArthur mall. She thought the great Sean Phoenix would have preferred a more private location, or at least something more exotic. He had promised her the scoop on a story that was volatile and said they couldn’t talk about it over the phone. They had to meet, according to Sean. They might as well do lunch.
She had obsessed over what she should wear. Her wardrobe was a television reporter’s wardrobe. Loud colors looked better under bright TV lights—large print patterns so they didn’t blur together. Form-fitting skirts and V-neck blouses. Avoid black; it adds extra pounds on TV.
But today, she wasn’t dressing for the cameras. She had pinned her hair back into a messy bun. She put on a straight black skirt, heels, and an aqua blouse with a wide collar and matching necklace. It was conservative and classy; she wanted to let Mr. Phoenix know she could play in the big leagues too. Today was all about impressing a confidential source, a source who had access to top-level information, a source who had promised a big scoop. Maybe, Kerri hoped, he was going to tell her to run with the story about the rescue of Pastor Seyyed Hassan.
